Deterioration
by Anikka
Summary: Takeru visits somebody. Ohh, intriguing. Sequel to I Thought You Knew. Yaoi goodness and angst abounds


Deterioration

July 27th, 2001 

Title: Deterioration   
Author: Anikka Sedai   
Rating: PG - 13   
Warnings: Dark and angsty to the max   
  
Notes: I was bugged by a few people for a sequel to _I Thought You Knew_, and this is part of it. I was requested a happy ending and a horrible ending. This is the sad, angsty, let's-kick-Daisuke-around-some-more sequel. So if you haven't read ITYK, then please do so before. It's just easier that way. The happy one will come in a day or so. Must rest knuckles.   
  
Feedback: anikka_sedai@hotmail.com Please write me and let me know if you like it!!! C&C very much welcome   
Archive : Sure. Knock yourself out, but let me know okay?   
Disclaimers: I don't own Digimon or anything within it. Bummer. One, two, better not sue   
  
  


**DETERIORATION**   
Written by [Anikka Sedai][1]

  
  


"Visiting hours ended almost ten minutes ago young man." 

The teenaged boy wringed his hands together, avoiding the irritated glare of the head nurse. She was a festively large woman, with an air of authority that left no room for objection or question. Still, even those hardened eyes had to soften slightly at the sight of the pathetic expression on the boy's face. Years of excuses and negligence had given her no tolerance for breaking the rules, but she still felt a nagging twinge of compassion. 

Something told her she might regret bending the rules for him. 

"I'll be down there in exactly fifteen minutes," she sighed with a strange tone, one that told him that he'd better be grateful, "And then you'll have to leave." 

"Arigato," he bowed and thanked her repeatedly, "Arigato Kyo-sama, Arigato gozaimas." 

Nurse Kyo snorted roughly, and waved her hand dismissively as he raced down the corridor. It was a shame, she thought, to see that boy in here as often as she did. He had been in regularly for the past couple of months, visiting that poor boy at the end of the hall. The blonde kid was the only visitor that boy ever got, but his consistency was something of a miracle. Every Monday, at seven o'clock, the doors would swing open and he'd be there with that damned hopeful smile of his. She had almost been worried when he didn't show up today at the expected time, but when he arrived, panting and sweating and frantic looking, she was relieved. 

Not that she'd ever admit that. Nothing that when on within these walls was any of her business, and Kyo preferred it that way. 

Even so, the blonde boy sparked her interest. No one ever spoke of his friend at the end of the hall, except in quiet and unsubstantiated whispers. Rumors circulated like wild fire in a place like this. And some of the ones regarding that boy were so elaborate they could have been penned by a fantasy writer. Kyo chose to believe nothing of the voices that skulked in the shadows after hours. Rumors never did anyone any good. Ever. 

She busied herself with paperwork, while her eyes periodically flickered to her watch.   
  
  


He was still running. He had run all the way here, twenty blocks, but he hadn't cared. He had promised he would be here, and Takeru never broke his promises. As he neared the end of the hall his run slowed to a walk, and eventually to a complete stop. He was standing before a padded blue door, with a plaque labelled '_Room 111_'. How many times had he been through that door, only to be disappointed and left feeling like the scum of the earth. 

Steeling his nerves, he reached for the knob. No matter how many times he went in, the next was always harder than the one before it. Every visit he hoped for some improvement, some sign of life, but each time he arrived to less and less. One of these days he was going to walk in there and he would be dead. Praying that today wasn't that day, he entered. 

The room had not changed since last week, and Takeru doubted it would for years. Four identical walls padded with thick, blue foam rubber, with one small window set near the padded ceiling. A mild bout of claustrophobia nagged at him, but he banished it from his thoughts. A small bed was pushed against the far wall, sheets strewn carelessly on the floor, completely bare save for it's occupant. Sitting cross legged on the mattress was a pale, sun-starved angel. He didn't look up when Takeru entered, nor did he even seem to notice his presence. 

Motomiya Daisuke. 

Takeru stifled a gasp, as he had to every time he saw what was left of his friend. He was wearing no shirt and had grown frighteningly thin ; his skin was nearly transparent and gaunt to his face. His eyes seemed sunken into his head, and once lusterous chesnut hair was cut down to a bare inch of limp greasiness. If he had the time, Takeru supposed he would be able to count every bone in Daisuke's body; he always winced when he caught sight of his hip bones jutting from his waist. Every week he seemed to have wasted away a little more, as if he were being eaten alive from the inside. 

The bones were, unfortunately, not the most sickening thing about his physical state. Layers and layers of scars - ranging in various thicknesses and lengths - covered his body like a grotesque patch worked quilt. Some were long faded and barely visible, while others - especially the one on his left wrist - screamed from his skin. His skin was as colourful as a quilt as well. Reds and pinks from the scars blended with near alabaster skin, the product of spending months in the one little room. Takeru frowned upon closer inspection; there were shades of purple and blue and yellow to accompany them. Sometimes Daisuke would hurl himself at the walls and the bed for hours, until he was too tired to stand. 

He was rocking back and forth slowly, eyes transfixed on the opposite wall. Even when Takeru took a few steps towards him he did not look up. 

_How did we let this happen?_

How was a good question indeed. It had been so gradual that when they noticed something was wrong it was too late to stop it. That was, of course, due to their own selfishness and stupidity. The Digidestined had all blamed themselves, each citing various reasons and cases in which they failed to notice Daisuke's downward spiral. But Takeru knew it was his fault. 

It was entirely his fault. 

It all started, he supposed, when he had rejected Daisuke. Takeru remembered distinctly the expression on Daisuke's face when he told him he didn't love him. He hadn't thought that Daisuke was gay or even bi, the way he was so eager to chase Hikari like wild game. The revelation had caught Takeru off guard; he hadn't realized Daisuke was falling in love with him, while he was falling in love with another. That was the catalyst. 

Slowly but surely, after that horrible incident, Daisuke's life had started spiralling out of control. When the doctors were throwing anti-depressants at him left-right-and-centre, none of his friends had thought that he might become addicted to them. Or that it would lead to marijuana and then crack and then heroin and then ecstasy and then ... the list just when on. He stopped being his usual, energetic self; he snapped and yelled or said nothing at all. 

For days he would stay curled up on his bed, shaking from withdrawal when he couldn't afford his fix for the day, until he just gave up on coming out at all. He dropped so much weight. It seemed impossible for him to lose any to begin with; he had always been thin. They would go to his house to try and help, but he always turned them away. Even Hikari. Especially Takeru. His parents just seemed to think he was going through a phase and threw more pills at him. Sometimes the blonde wondered how they could be so negligent of their own child while he wasted away into nothing. 

The final straw had come when Miyako and Iori had gone on their routine check up. Daisuke was not in his room. They found him in the bathtub, naked, a new bloody path craved from wrist to elbow to match countless faded others all over his skin. Takeru had thanked whatever God was watching over them for letting Daisuke live, but sometimes he wondered if the boy would have been better off if they hadn't found him in time. 

Now what they were left with was a shell; the outer layer of Daisuke that they all dismissed and never bothered to look past. It was all that was left of him. When he had stayed in the hospital his mind began to deteriorate, quickly churning and whirling from all of the drugs until there was nothing left but a handful of misconstrued memories. There was no happy laughter, no one line shots at his friends, no jokes. There was no will to live. His parents had decided it was too much for them to deal with and released him into the custody of the Odaiba Mental Health Centre. They gave up on their own son because he had become a burden to them. 

And after a few weeks in this place, there had been no more Daisuke. He seemed to have forgotten his name, his friends names, and the few memories that the drugs had left unscathed. The others stopped coming to visit him, claiming it was too painful to see him like that; Takeru didn't blame them. Ken often asked why he kept coming back to this nightmare. Sometimes he wondered why himself, but then he always remembered. He had been the one who started this. 

"You look familiar." 

Takeru was suddenly snapped out of his recollection when he realized that Daisuke was talking to him; he was slightly surprised. When he came to visit Daisuke rarely ever acknowledged there was another in the room. Sometimes he just didn't see him, even if he were standing right there. 

"Do you ... remember me?" 

The question came hesitantly as he sat on the edge of the bed. Daisuke squinted at him, swinging his leg over the side of his plastic bed. He wasn't allowed to have wood or metal, because he had tried to crack his skull open on them. 

"Like oranges ..." 

"What?" 

"Oranges," he repeated, sounding very sure of himself, "I used to like oranges, I think. Did you ever give me oranges? You smell like them." 

All Takeru wanted was some sign that the other boy recognized him. Even a dim glimmer in those hollow pits that were once his eyes would have been good enough. But every time all he got was babbling, when Daisuke chose to talk at all. Sometimes he would just sit and hum, and other times he would be pacing furiously while ranting about the configuration of meat. 

_It's all my fault, Dai-chan. Will you ever forgive me?_

"I talked to God today. He told me that he hated me and I would burn, because I did something bad. I don't remember what it was. Do you know what I did wrong Takeru?" 

The blonde inhaled sharply at the sound of his name. Did he remember? "Daisuke, you know my name?" 

Daisuke looked confused and he shook his head sadly. "Only sometimes." 

He hated this. He hated the fact that Daisuke was sitting right there, but it wasn't him. It was just his body, while his mind drifted back and forth between the room and wherever it would have ended up if his bathroom suicide had succeeded. Takeru could not stop his eyes from drifting over the scar at his wrist, and again at the patchwork quilt. 

How had this happened? 

Quite suddenly, Daisuke burst into tears and his arms shot out; he grabbed Takeru by the wrists and pinned them to the bed. He was not strong, incredibly frail actually, but the blonde did not try to break the contact. The look in those empty brown eyes sparked with something, for just a brief moment, but then it was gone again. A pleading look stared back at him, like a child who had been separated from its mother. 

"Don't let him take me Takeru," he whimpered, "Please don't let him take me. I'm too scared to go to Hell. Please don't let him." 

Takeru struggled to blink back his own tears. He wanted to be able to help him so badly. To soothe away the nightmares and reassure him that everything would be alright. That's why he came back, week after week. Daisuke was his responsibility. It was his fault he went insane. 

_I can't help you Daisuke._

"Don't let God hurt me." 

_It's all my fault_. 

"I can't remember why he wants to hurt me." 

_Why couldn't I see he was in love with me?_

The door squeaked open as Daisuke reached for him. 

'Takeru ..." 

He flinched at the sound of Kyo's voice, and his head sagged wearily. It couldn't be time to leave already. It just couldn't. Releasing Takeru from his grip, Daisuke's head lolled back and forth as he rolled his neck, humming a nameless tune on his breath, tears forgotten as quickly as they had come. 

"I'm afraid it's time to say good night." 

Takeru rose shakily, willing his knees to hold out long enough for him to leave the padded room. Daisuke's beautiful, ghostly eyes never left him, but they seemed to become sad again when he realized that Takeru was leaving. Daisuke's lower lip quivered in a pout, and the blonde knew he had failed when he felt the first splash of tears hit his cheeks. He had to leave now, or the angel would have him under his spell. 

"Takeru? He's coming to get me." 

Forcing himself to walk, Takeru concentrated on nothing but the floor as he left Daisuke behind for the hundredth time. Daisuke wailed and screamed for him to stop, while Nurse Kyo vainly tried to calm him. He waited outside for her, eyes shut tightly to try and stop the flow of tears; he could still hear Daisuke. 

"I think ... he's gone," Takeru said quietly as Kyo locked the door behind her, "There's nothing left of the Daisuke we used to know." 

Kyo nodded slowly, weary compassion showing in her face. "It's a fucking shame, to see such a cute kid like that end up in here. I doubt he'll live another month. Will you still be coming to see him Takeru?" 

The boy nodded. "Yes. I have to." 

Shutting out the sound of the desperate pleas from behind the closed door, he began to walk away slowly, leaving the Nurse to her rounds. It was a task to make his feet move, each step more laboured than the last. Daisuke screamed and screamed for him, but there wasn't anything he could do. 

"TAKERU! COME BACK TAKERU!" 

If only he had tried to talk to that forgotten cheerful kid when he still existed, maybe this would have never happened. But no one ever tried, just because they didn't think anything was there. And it was all Takeru's fault. He should have tried harder. 

_He thought I knew ... why didn't I know?_

"TAKERU!"   
  
  


**~*~FIN~*~**

  
  


I think I owe Dai-chan a happy story. 

Daisuke : It's not fair! How come I get all the emotional baggage and end up insane. 

Takeru : It's just a story. 

Daisuke : Easy for you to say, you weren't wasting away in an asylum! 

Silence, the both of you. If you enjoyed the fic, please lemme know! Stay tuned for a happy ending version in a few days. 

Daisuke : Yay! 

   [1]: mailto:anikka_sedai@hotmail.com



End file.
